


where the ships go

by Asvan



Category: Black Sails, Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27880074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asvan/pseuds/Asvan
Summary: Captain Flint sails to murder Alfred Hamilton; the Outsider watches.(no knowledge of the Dishonored series is required, it just adds some whale magic into the setting)
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton
Kudos: 6





	where the ships go

The icy ocean off the shores of Tyvia breathes slowly, heavily, content with the winter approaching. Soon everything here will freeze for good and the fishermen will run on dog sleds towards the small islands and their winter huts, to axe holes through the ice and lure the unsuspecting fish towards a certain doom with fatty porridge and sharp hooks. Not yet though, not yet – and Captain Flint spurs the _Walrus_ into the open sea, awaiting a ship bearing such precious cargo. The weather is dull; the slate grey expanse of the foggy waters provides for a poor view, and the crew is bored, the high of the chase worn off and discontent not yet strong enough to bring it out into the pale light. 

Captain Flint stands on his deck and waits, staring ahead, waiting for the merchant sails to appear on the horizon. He flexes his gloved hand restlessly, and with a flash, unseen to outsiders (apart from the one which starts with the capital O), the crew flares up above and below, beacons of yellow light, oblivious and untroubled. The birds soar in the sky, dipping in and out of his Vision, and he contemplates for a moment shooting at them, but brushes the thought aside. And then finally a voice comes, bellowing from above: “Sails!”

They were not expecting resistance; a merchant ship is bound to surrender – the captains are most often sensible people, but this time, there is battle. A long and bloody one, unreasonably drawn out and exhausting to the bone. Captain Flint fights among his men and fights bloodily, moving with speed that seems unnatural at times; but he fights – and among the corpses then stands victorious. The treasure is meant to be on the lower deck – and so he heads down below.

He finds Alfred Hamilton and his new mistress tucked away into a dark corner, shaking and begging for mercy, squealing and swiveling, covered in snot – Captain Flint is promised many riches if he were to let them go. He does not let them go.

As he wipes the blood off his sword, using Alfred Hamilton’s fine jacket, he notices a bone charm, tucked safely away into an inner pocked. Captain Flint laughs, quietly and bitterly, as he brushes his fingers across the dark bone: cursed. The seller must have told the fool that an artifact of such power will surely protect the wearer from a weapon shot, and yet conveniently forgot to mention that stalking the new owner will become a laughably easy task. Useless.

Captain Flint closes his eyes and feels in his heart a familiar distant chill. He knows then that when he opens his eyes he’ll find himself in a sea of an entirely different sort.

His lashes try to freeze together when he opens his eyes, and his breath fogs – there is no weather and no breath in the Void, usually, but sometimes it likes to humour him in its own twisted way. Today it _is_ the sea, albeit a different one, and he stands on the deck of a splintering ship; masts rise for him from the _nothing_ below and he jumps across the rigging with practiced ease, Blinking finally towards the image of his own quarters on the _Walrus_ , torn out and adrift.

Surely enough, the black-eyed bastard is already sitting in his chair, playing absently with a quill. Captain Flint sits right on the table and stares back:

— Came to gloat?

— My dear James, I simply could not pass the chance. It is not every day you kill the very thing that helped bringing your love into existence. How did it feel?

— Bold of you to assume I can still feel at all.

— Oh, but you can. That boiling pit in your stomach that you throw everything into – it lives still, and you fed it well today. Alfred Hamilton was a man well-accustomed to the world heeding his every call; he grew bloated on the suffering of others, and crushed those who would even dream of opposing him. His own son; your lost love. I suppose you did the world a favour today, James. I’m not about to tell you he deserved sympathy; but I watched him with some interest, not nearly the same one I give you, of course, but still.

The Outsider’s eyes glint in the surrounding darkness. He looks amused, barely – and then he’s gone. Captain Flint trails towards the exit of this cursed place, stopping for a moment to look at the portrait of his own wretched dreams – there, painted by the masterful hand, stands Thomas Hamilton, uncomfortable in the family regalia and yet so kind around the tired eyes. James sits at the footing of the heavy golden frame and thinks of drinking so much he’ll forget his own name; but the world outside still lives, and the crew will riot soon – there was no treasure that had so often been promised. Thomas is silent – he is just a portrait; with some part of his soul James thinks of asking the Outsider to find his lover’s ghost in this endless abyss. He entertains the thought of hearing _that_ voice again and gets up, tears frozen on his cheeks. As he heads towards the shimmering vortex of an exit, he hears a bloodied whale, singing a mourning song.

Atop the corpse of Alfred Hamilton Captain Flint finds two runes, tied together with a silk ribbon.


End file.
